


Wouldn't it be Nice?

by GwendolynGrace



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-07
Updated: 2008-06-07
Packaged: 2018-10-23 21:53:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,690
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10727997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GwendolynGrace/pseuds/GwendolynGrace
Summary: John can’t wait until they don’t have to sneak around anymore.





	Wouldn't it be Nice?

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2008, before we learned anything about Mary's or John's families. Subsequently joss'd by canon, a bit. 
> 
> This is ’s fault. She wrote a [Sam/Jess thing](http://eloise-bright.livejournal.com/99585.html) a while back and it inspired this parallel scene. Thanks to for the beta! (Title is from the Beach Boys song.)

**Amarillo, TX  
August 1976**

John collapsed back onto his pillow, sighing heavily. Mary nestled herself against him on the narrow bed.

“It’s official,” he said glumly. “Your uncle hates me.”

Mary shushed him. “The window’s open.” There was a box fan going, too, but its low whir would hardly matter if their voices carried on the night air. “And he doesn’t hate you. Well, he doesn’t hate _you_.”

“Sure, I’m taking his little girl away,” John agreed. “I get that. But there’s more.”

“Well, you’re not Army,” she admitted.

“Not a Marine, either, anymore,” he said with satisfaction, stroking her arm.

“Mm. My brand-new civilian. Won’t know what to do with yourself.” Mary patted his chest, smoothed her hand over his pectoral muscle, and lazily stroked around his nipple. “Trust me, if he hated you, you’d know. For one thing, he’d have offered you the blended whiskey.”

“’Zat a fact?” John teased. He shifted over a bit to turn toward her, cup his hand around the curve of her breast through her cotton nightie.

“Shh… no—” Mary protested weakly.

“I’m being quiet,” he assured her, seeking her lips with his. He squeezed her breast as he deepened the kiss, pushing himself up on his other arm to roll her back against the mattress. The bed creaked and he felt her tense.

“Mare, you’re twenty-two,” he pointed out, “and you’ve lived on your own for more than a year.”

“Jacob’s house, though,” she said sadly.

“And he’s asleep, right?” John cajoled.

“Should be, but—”

“Shh….” John shifted again, this time letting his hand trail down her thigh and back to ruck up the hem of her nightgown. She shuddered, suppressing a moan of pleasure when his fingers slipped inside her panties. He gently massaged the tender skin, enjoying Mary’s little gasps as she tried to hush, almost more than the desperate keen she usually produced for him. The illicit, forbidden danger of it was intoxicating.

Mary pushed down on his shoulders and he chuckled. “Yeah, your moral fortitude is impressive there, Reynolds,” he muttered into her belly as he kissed his way down her front.

“Oh, shut up,” she quipped playfully. She canted her hips so John could slide the bikini bottoms off her legs and wrap his arms under her buttocks.

He nibbled his way between her thighs, trapped her clit with his teeth and laved it gently afterward. Each time he sucked at her, she gasped back a groan of pleasure, which went straight to his cock. Her legs twitched around his shoulders and neck in time to his licks, her hips convulsed with her effort to keep still and not rock the bedframe against the wall. John “hummed” softly into her snatch, letting the warmth of his breath and the vibration tickle her to increase the torture.

“I hate you,” she whispered passionately. “C’mere.” She reached out to pull him by the arms. He climbed back up, jaw glistening, and nuzzled her breasts, neck, and chin on the way to her open mouth. Her hands pushed the waistband of his boxers while her tongue ran over his teeth. “C’mon,” she growled between kisses, “fuck me, John. Please.”

John dropped his hips against her pelvis and felt her trap him with her arms and legs. “Thought we had to be quiet,” he taunted her. 

“So be quiet,” Mary said, eyes flashing, “but do it, baby, hurry up.”

John pressed himself up on his arms so Mary could pull his shorts down. As he kicked them off, the mattress squeaked and the headboard bumped against the wall. Mary froze.

John’s predatory smile faded. He reached behind her and picked up the pillow, wedged it between the headboard and the wall. She grinned at him. “Genius,” she said, and planted another deep kiss against his mouth.

“Took your pill?” John tried to confirm.

“Yes, God, stop nagging me, John, _fuck_ me,” Mary demanded.

“Just checking,” John apologized mildly. If anything, he was more careful about it than she was, but he’d only just been discharged and his “sure thing” job back in Lawrence wasn’t going to pay enough to start a family right away. Not that he was sure he wanted one at all. Still, he wasn’t about to talk her out of the order he’d been waiting to hear all evening, so he lowered himself and pushed forward into her without any further argument.

Mary bit her lip and hissed in pleasure/pain. John pulled back, eased in more slowly. They both sighed a little as they fit together and Mary’s channel opened up for him. John pumped his hips…and the headboard thumped against the wall.

He looked up. The pillow had fallen under the bed when they moved around. “Shit,” John muttered. He pulled out and sat up in frustration, beckoning Mary to sit up, too. “In my lap?” he suggested with determination.

Mary worried her lip between her teeth. “Could try,” she agreed and shimmied over to him. She straddled his hips and lowered herself. The bed still squeaked, but no more than if John had rolled over on the mattress. Until John fell back so Mary could ride him more easily. The springs flexed in a rhythmic noise unmistakable for anything else.

“Seriously, are your walls that thin?” John complained when Mary rolled off him in haste.

“Sorry,” she said dejectedly.

John rubbed his neck. “Why aren’t we eloping, again?” he wondered aloud.

Mary reached up to drape around him. One hand stroked his hair while the other squeezed his arm. “Because…your mother wanted a church, and my Aunt Betty wants me in white….”

“My mother calls me Henry half the time ’cause she can’t tell I’m not Dad,” John grumbled. “She can barely remember how to make coffee. She’d never notice if we showed up suddenly hitched.”

“Yes,” Mary allowed, “but there’s nothing wrong with Aunt Betty’s mind, and Uncle Jacob—”

“Wants to be able to give you away,” John recited. “Yeah, I know.”

“Hey, he’s raised me since I was eight, John,” Mary said adamantly. “You can’t blame him for feeling a little…proprietary.”

John grunted. He rubbed his shriveling erection, still hoping for a little action, but pretty certain Mary would remain too self-conscious for anything to happen. Thinking about the wedding in a month wasn’t helping, either. 

At least Jacob and Betty, for all their standoffishness toward their stranger-cum-nephew-in-law, were paying for the modest affair. And Deacon was coming from Camp Pendleton to stand up for him. He’d been reluctant to propose—had planned, in fact, to ask Mary to wait—because he knew he was no catch at the moment. He was confident that he’d finally left Vietnam behind, but his prospects weren’t all that promising. Just out of the Marines, about to chase the promise of a job without any guarantee apart from an old family connection, and about as poor as a farmer’s son could be. But Mary, as usual, had a wholly different view of the situation, and she refused to be left behind. If Lawrence was where John was going, then Lawrence was where she would go, too. She insisted they put nothing on hold, nothing long-distance, no waiting. No waiting…that was an idea!

“What about both?” he mused out loud.

“Huh?”

“Let’s do both. We go to Reno—next week! And then we’ll come back and give your aunt her storybook wedding.” The more he thought about it, the better it sounded.

“John, we can’t go to Reno.”

”Sure, we can.”

“John.” She pulled away toward the head of the bed to look at him.

“Well, we _could_ ,” John told her with a half shrug. God, he sounded about five.

“Excuse me?” Mary whispered intensely. “Who’s the one who was so worried about having ‘nothing to offer a wife?’ How much is in your bank account, Mr. High-roller?” 

“Hey, baby, no problem,” John purred. He put his hands on her arms. “Get me at that poker table—”

“No.” Mary stiffened.

“Huh?”

“No gambling, John.” She stood up, her nightgown barely covering her blonde thatch.

John spread his hands. “O…kay,” he said slowly, his eyes sliding right and left. He wasn’t sure when they’d completely trashed the mood, but between Mary tensing up at every noise, then getting defensive about her family, and now this over-reaction, like a little game of poker was going to turn into compulsive gambling, he was rapidly losing hope of even holding her through the rest of the night. “Can we…maybe talk about this when I’m not trying to make love to my girl?” He reached out for her wrist.

She pulled away. “I mean it, John,” she said seriously. “I should…get back to my room.”

“Hey,” John said soothingly. He stood up and stroked her arms. They were all gooseflesh, even though the fan’s draft and the night air coming in the window were August-warm. “Hey, it’s okay, sweetheart. Forget I said anything. C’mon. I mean, what’s Jake gonna do—disown you?”

She smiled, teeth shining in the dark. “No. Just….”

“Shh. C’mon. Let’s just…go to sleep, all right?” John pleaded in defeat. “Just don’t be pissed at me, baby. Stay.”

Mary glanced at the door like she thought Jacob might bust through at any moment. John tilted her chin back to him and kissed her tenderly. “C’mon, baby, lie back down.”

She looked over at the too-narrow twin bed. The moonlight from the window glinted in her eyes, giving them almost a cat’s reflectivity. He recognized her playful, mischievous grin. “You’re crawling under the bed for the pillow,” she announced.

John pulled her to him. “Scared of monsters?” he teased.

“Nope. I wanna see your ass in the air when you try to reach under there, Winchester.”

John pinched her in a sensitive spot, and she squealed before she could contain the noise. She clapped her hands over her mouth and they both froze. A minute later, Mary was slinking down the hall to the room she’d used since her parents died fourteen years ago.

John left the pillow where it was until morning.


End file.
